by Joel Varty
Bill Thomas is beside me then, and he puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s good to see you, brother.”
The words sound strange from him, as if there is a significance behind them beyond the kinship we have shared in the last weeks, and of course, the last few seconds.
“It’s good to see you too.”
And without too much more thought to the dead man bleeding out at our feet, perhaps because we have become overly used to the sight and sounds of unnatural death that this one doesn’t feel so bad, we step back into the daylight as the sun begins to break through the clouds.
Bill looks at the piece of wood in my hands and says, “What were you going to do, swat him to death with your divining rod?”
“Don’t get me started, man,” I say, smiling. “You’d be surprised at what I can do with this rod.”
As the rain stops and the light of the world gets brighter, I can’t help but feel better. Bill puts his arm around my shoulder, and our many companions crowd around us, somehow certain now that the worst is behind us and we can once again move forward. Everywhere I look is the happy-sad smile that only a survivor can know of.
I feel a lingering pity for the fallen man in the tunnel, though, and the memory of his words sticks with me. I decide, for the moment, not to worry too much about my brother’s legacy, and I look northward towards what I so readily left behind some days ago. I will not do so again.
My family beckons me home with the memory of their love, deep inside my veins, and I wonder if that has made all the difference.
Chapter Six – The Long Walk Through Fire
Bill
Jonah and I walk together through the day and share the same watch at night, though it seems unnecessary now to keep such night-time vigils against sudden danger. We talk of all the things that have happened in the past days and weeks, and of the loss of life. We talk of the various useless things that we might have done to stop it that wouldn’t have made a damned difference anyways.
Those angels have disappeared, and I can just about say good riddance, since they seemed to be meddling about as much as they were helping anything. Many, many others show up to take their place, too, so they aren’t missed or anything like that.
People seem to see us from far off and, like thirsty animals to water, they flock about us, joining sometimes in ones and twos, and then sometimes in tens and twenties. They come down from the hills or up from deep ditches and even from the branches of tall trees. Why anyone would hide up in a tree is beyond me, but it’s not my place to criticize. Not yet, anyways. I plan on bringing these folks up to speed on how we should be organizing ourselves as soon as we get to wherever we’re going, but for now I’m content to just walk beside my friends.
We eat what we find along the road, and there is plenty that has sprouted up, as if nature’s making up for lost time. It’s amazing to watch the folks who’ve been travelling with Jonah find things that are useful. Even the smaller kids manage to pick up all sorts of berries and other things from low down that are valuable.
My biggest concern about the future, now that we have survived, is coffee. My pack was left behind when Geron’s men picked me up and, as far as I can remember, that was the last of the beans that anyone thought to bring along. Idiots, all of us; I mean, if the world ends and everything is lost in a hellish darkness, what is going to make you feel better than a hot cup of coffee? Exactly.
I guess it won’t kill me not to have it, though.
…
Susan
I have been altered by the new friendships that have been forged in the crucible of the last while. I have been damaged by the loss of Amy, who had become a sister to me. A woman can’t deny the power of a sister, especially when she hasn’t had one, and then she has one, and then she loses one: that’s a damaging loss.
I am amazed at my newfound skill in picking out things that we can eat from the new growth along the roadsides and at the edge of the woods that we skirt around. In a few spots, especially when we find wild strawberries or something else with actual flavour, it is a real joy to see the look on everyone’s face. Looking around, I watch others watching others enjoy the rare treat. After being so hungry, it’s amazing that we are greedier for the happiness of our fellow travellers than our own appetites.
But not all of us are capable yet of relaxing long enough to smile. Most of those that come to the group, and we are a long train of several hundred people now, are shell-shocked beyond comprehension. Some need to be led along and practically hand-fed in cases where they are too weak to feed themselves. Some are too frail or too disturbed to even drink a bit of broth.
I try not to shed too many tears about everything that has happened. The sadness sits deep down within me now, more like a living presence that shares my body, and I embrace it eternally with all the love that I had for those who are gone. That approach seems to keep the tears at bay, most of the time. I think I seem too tough to the others, especially the new ones. I wonder if they resent me, as I am now a better walker than most, and I don’t seem to need the same amount of sleep as I once did. That’s just how I have adapted, though, after staying so watchful for so long with only a few of us to keep an eye on each other.
I have become much different from the timid woman who walked through an imaginary wall into an old church to be tasked with this burden. I don’t see it as something Jonah asked me to do, though. He himself seems an unlikely candidate for such responsibility. No, I like to think it is I who has been given the chance to present myself for service, and I have been allowed to serve my people however I can, whoever they are and by whatever means are available.
I wonder if that is why I am still alive. It doesn’t explain why Amy isn’t, though, since she was the same as me in most respects. She was probably better than me at surviving in the wilderness. She ought to be alive, not me. I can only think that it is just the way of things: some of us die and some of us live, and we can only do what we can for the living and remember the dead with all the love that they deserve. I keep her memory as a protected, living thing that dwells within my soul now.
I keep my eyes busy with the search for food and for stragglers joining the group.
I endure the beginning just as I feel I have endured the ending.
…
Steven
Why do we follow him? What hold does he have over us? I can remember dragging him in a litter along this very same road. Now here we are again, tagging along after him like a bunch of sheep, albeit with more organization this time up the road. I guess we have to go somewhere, though, so we might as well follow him as anyone else. But until we get where we’re going, I am reserving judgment as to whether this is the right direction at all.
Or is this just a vicious dream that is only just now recurring into a nightmare?
But the more I dwell upon it, the more I don’t bother with those kinds of thoughts, since it doesn’t make any difference anyway. Here we are, together, and the group is getting bigger everyday. People seem to just appear every morning, joining in the long chain, asking questions, or simply following along and watching from a distance. I try to stay near to Jonah – he seems to be the only one who knows where we’re going.
His horse is the gentlest animal imaginable, and a few days out from the city another one comes up to us. I guess this one belongs to Jonah as well, for he immediately throws his arms around the thing’s neck and cries out that he knew she’d be back. I’ll never understand it, but I guess it’s what happens when you spend too much time in the country. I hope I don’t turn out like that, wherever we’re going.
He puts about four kids on each horse, walking between the two of them and leading them with his very presence, for there are no halters or saddles on them. They seem to be content to walk this way with the light loads on their backs, and there’s no concern for them running off. It doesn’t seem right, to have a dumb animal be so devotional. Why do they do that?
The kids love it; they bounce alon
g for about an hour until they get switched off with another set. They all have filthy clothes and hair that stands up all over the place. I am grubby, too. I can feel the dirt in my very bones, as if every day without a real shower or bath lets the filth dig deeper into my skin. Everyone looks the same, though, even the girls.
I start to pass the time counting people, but it becomes impossible. There are about fifty people that I know, and of them maybe thirty are from around the foster home where I was brought up. That’s a drop in the bucket compared to the hundreds and hundreds that trail along the road now, all stretched out in a long group. Jonah doesn’t even try to talk to all of them, or call out to people about what they should do or where they should go. He just walks in the middle of everyone, leading those two horses and folks just spread out around him.
Some walk in front, but most trail along behind, watching to see the kind of food that the more experienced people gather up, and then follow suit. Even with the considerable number of people who seem to have knowledge of plants and herbs which grow along the way, it’s mostly roots and prickly leaves that we get to eat, and not even enough of those, so that you end up crunching dirt as much as anything.
Dirt on the inside, dirt on the outside, dirt and filth everywhere. All I want is be clean. Why can’t we just arrive wherever we’re going, or at least stay still long enough to rest properly? But that’s the problem with such a large group, they take forever to get going and just as long to settle down and stop for the night, so we don’t bother to do lunches and crap like that. If you’re hungry you just follow someone who knows something and grab whatever you can when you see what you can eat. At about mid-day the whole area, wherever we are, is teeming with people tottering along after those gifted few who show which roots can be dug up or leaves eaten raw. There are others wandering farther afield trying to hunt animals.
That’s where Bill and his old squad spend most of their time, but for being soldiers they are pitifully poor hunters. After a day and a half of long useless hunts they come back a couple hours after dawn looking dreadful. It almost cheers me up to see those men, strong and dependable, reduced to hungry, worn-out shells. They aren’t so tough after all. It seems strange that they are covered in ashes, though, so I hurry over to where they are talking to Jonah to try and find out what’s happened.
“We’ve got a serious problem, Jonah,” Bill is saying, breathless and looking about as bad as I’ve ever seen him look. “There’s not much alive out there.” He bends over, gasping for breath and shaking his head. The others, too, the men in his squad, are shaking their heads and staring at the ground, as if they are trying to rid themselves of the memory of it.
Bill straightens up again, and continues, a look of pain on his face. “About a couple miles out in either direction, it’s all dead – just like before – only this time it’s real. Everything looks burnt, or something like it, something worse. As far as you can see, it’s only ashes, smoke and fire.”
Chapter Seven – The End in Ashes
Jonah
I can’t believe it. I thought it was over. It was over. Everything seemed to be fine, people were coming back to us, finding us, and the group was growing, over a thousand strong. But maybe that’s all there is – maybe we few are doomed to live in isolation while the untended earth lies fallow and desolate.
Is this what we’ve done to ourselves?
The question flies at me in a muted fury, and all along I have known the answer. I have been avoiding it in my head. Action has not been enough. Leading them is not enough. A little sacrifice and pain is not enough. Only one thing is.
We are all gathered around Bill and his squad mates from the army – it seems natural that they retain their old leadership, although Bill refuses to be addressed as Sergeant Thomas anymore – he just ignores it when we call him that. A small circle of unlikely friends: those who made it into the church and those who met us at the end of the tunnel. We are nothing if not faithful unbelievers and traitors. We are closer to each other than we ought to be after such a short time.
And now we’ve run out of options. We’ve done what we said we would do, or rather everything I said we should do. We’ve spread out, we’ve regrouped, people followed us as we led them to safety, and yet we are still not safe. Something has gone wrong, somewhere. We haven’t done enough. I haven’t done enough.
“It’s coming closer,” Bill says. “The fire-line was more than twenty miles out when we first saw it from the top of the ridge. By the time we got back here it was much closer. Probably only a few miles, maybe less.”
Is this what we’ve done to ourselves?
“I can still smell it,” Chapin mutters under his breath. “It’s just like what we walked through the other day – except now it’s on fire.”
I take a whiff of the air – is that campfire smoke or something worse? It’s almost like a sulphur smell.
Is this what we’ve done to ourselves?
“I don’t believe it,” Susan says, shaking. She’s probably overtired and hungry from giving away all the food she finds. “It seemed like everything was going to be okay. What do we do now?”
This is what we’ve done to ourselves.
I look at them, one by one: Susan, Steven, Bill, Lewis, Chapin, Dyer, Jones, Rogers. They try not to look my way for a bit, but then, almost as one, they turn their heads back to me, maybe in blame, maybe for guidance – I can’t tell which. Everyone’s face looks a little sour. Mine probably does, too. None of us wants to face the darkness again. I don’t feel like I can bleed anymore – and I know everyone is wondering whether it makes any difference. I dig into their eyes with my gaze, person to person, human to human, mortal to mortal.
Is this what it feels like at the end?
I won’t go quietly. I won’t stand here while we all slip into nothingness.
I make a decision to end this madness now.
“Stay on this road. Follow it north until you can see the foothills, then go west across the valley. You can’t miss it. I left red signs on the road.”
Bill squints at me, as if he can read my thoughts. “No, Jonah,” he says quietly. “You don’t want to go back there. We have to try and outrun this thing. Maybe it’ll slow down as we get farther from…” He trails off.
I glance back at the long train of people still way behind us. I wonder briefly if the sky hasn’t darkened noticeably in the last few minutes. My muscles are tense. I gauge the distance between my hand and Bill’s k-bar knife with its wicked-sharp straight black blade.
I dive directly towards him, whipping the knife out of its sheath on his leg, and rolling to my left away from the group, towards the edge of the road. I misjudge the distance a bit and the roll angle causes my face to scrap the gravel as I slide into the ditch. I’m on my feet before anyone even moves, though, even Bill. I wonder for a split second whether his fear is stronger than mine, and that is what makes him hesitate. We’ll see.
I run as fast as I can, away from the road, carrying the knife towards the growing smell of smoke.
Goodbye my friends.
…
I run out of breath faster than I expect, less than a half-mile from the road, where the ground starts to get really rough and rocky. The trees have thinned out a bit, and are sparse enough to give an idea of the darkness ahead. It stinks like sulphur, ash, and something else – some sort of wrongness in the air. I stop for a minute and rest, bent over with my hands on my thighs.
It’s a nice day, or at least it was until I found out that I have to kill myself to end everything once and for all. It’s not so nice knowing that – but I guess it’s better than watching everyone else die, too. This had better work, I think to myself. Although I suppose I won’t know if it doesn’t.
Stop that. Don’t hesitate, you coward, just do it.
I run, then. I run way past where my stamina would normally allow. Branches whip my face, and my legs get tangled in last year’s old orchard grass, nearly as tall as me. I trip over
rocks and twist my ankles in hidden holes. I fall repeatedly, tripping and rolling, over and over again, only to rise with more determination every time. I’m glad I didn’t bring the horse, for he would have broken a leg for sure.
The landscape changes slightly beneath me as I run, or rather stumble at this point, staggering half bent over and out of breath, choking on the very air I try to force down faster into my lungs. The grass, once green and new, is now brown and baked-looking; in fact everything is brown, as if the whole land has been scorching in a hot desert sun. The whole earth feels sick, and somehow alone, somehow sad, in spite of my presence.
Maybe because of it.
I climb what I know is the last hill, a kind of a ridge that opens out over a long flat expanse below it. I don’t know how far I’ve come – I don’t recognise any landmarks and this doesn’t feel at all real anymore. That’s how far I figure the earth his slipped into sour disrepair, and so I don’t even try to notice where I have travelled. I only know that I am nearly there.
Just as I crest the top of the hill, but before I can fully comprehend the total devastation before me, I instinctively turn to my right, for I feel a presence there. I stand for a moment, absolutely still with fear and disbelief. I am scraped, battered, bruised and bewildered, and I stand there panting as the biggest bear that I have ever seen, a grizzly, rears up on his hind legs about ten feet from me. He lets out a great roar that nearly deafens me. I am immediately paralyzed with terror. I recognise him though, from the creek, probably not too far from here, when I passed through the last time, heading north. And I recognise the eyes from someone else.
Before I can speak his name, he launches himself at me, and I don’t even remember to try to strike at him with the knife in my hand. I do manage to twist away enough so that his great claws only glance the side of my head instead of gouging out my eyes. I feel the familiar trickle of wetness down my skull, and think for a minute that maybe Lucifer is helping me to do what must be done, in his own way.